Sic Vita Est
by Sweartoad
Summary: TEMPORARILY TAKEN DOWN WHILE I DEAL WITH A LITTLE COPY-CAT OF MINE. I appreciate your patience and will have all the chapters back up soon!  once everything has been dealt with!  - Sweartoad


**VERY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! PLEASE READ!**

** Hello everyone! Sorry to be an update that is not really an update at all - I promise I'll be brief. Due to a case of plagarism that has recently come to my attention, I am taking down _Sic Vita Est_ while I sort out the situation. Never fear! It will once again come to grace your computer screens, as soon as my little copy-cat has been dealt with. I know it may be a bit of a disappointment when you see an update from me that actually involves me taking down the majority of my story, but I would like to let each one of you know (whether you review or not) that I have definitely appreciated your support. I often come back to this story to re-read it and get inspiration from all the genuinely nice reviews people have left me, even if they're as short as "Update nao!1!"**

**As a disclaimer - naturally I write this story for the love of Harry Potter. That doesn't mean that what I have written is not my own work - I may borrow the world but the bits and pieces that make it up are all my own. I do take the protection of my own work seriously and I appreciate your support during this small break while I get everything sorted out. As an aside, if you ever notice an author's work being plagarised please do a good deed and let them know - we definitely appreciate it!**

**Thanks so much, and sorry to bore you/bring sad news, etc.**

Lots of love,

Sweartoad.

END COMMUNICATION.

**Sic Vita Est**

_Chapter Fourteen:_ Beneficium Accipere Libertatem Est Vendere

"_To accept a favour is to sell one's freedom"_

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I solemnly swear I am up to no – er, I mean … what?_

_**Warning: This chapter may contain hints of child abuse/neglect. Beware.**_

* * *

Weeks passed at Hogwarts, and before Harry knew it he was halfway though the first school semester. Everyone at the school had finally settled down from the excitement of seeing friends (and enemies) again after a two-month break to the more sedate routine of regular classes and all the homework that unfortunately came with them. The increase in their workloads didn't, of course, include the many extra-curricular activities that Hogwarts offered, and Harry was beginning to find more and more of his free time being eaten up by the numerous weekly Quidditch practices that Oliver Wood insisted they all attend.

In previous years Harry would have described the Gryffindor Quidditch captain as dedicated. Now, though, he realised that he had been severely mistaken – Wood was nothing sort of fanatical. He had scheduled the Quidditch pitch at all hours of the day, ranging from obscenely early starts in the morning to practices that ran well into the evenings, and forced the Gryffindor team to practice no matter the conditions.

It was on a foggy, freezing early morning that found Harry huddled up beside Fred and George Weasley in the cold changing rooms off of the Quidditch pitch, clad in his team robes. The twin Beaters were dozing; George with his head tipped back to rest against the wall and Fred with his head on his brother's shoulder, his mouth hanging open comically. Across from Harry sat the three Chasers. Angelina Johnson was grouchily nursing a steaming cup of coffee, while Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were both alternating between rubbing their arms to keep warm and shooting murderous looks at the front of the room.

Oblivious to all of this was Wood, striding backwards and forwards before a blackboard on which he had drawn a whole bunch of squiggly lines in chalk. He had his wand clasped tightly in one hand.

"Now listen," he said, tapping the board with his wand, "this year the Quidditch cup is ours! I know I've said that in the past but this has got to be the year – I can _feel_ it!"

Harry tried to look interested when Wood's gaze swept across him and not like he was wishing he were still asleep in his warm bed.

"For all of my time at Hogwarts, Gryffindor has _not once_ won the Quidditch cup – but all that's about to change! This is my final year and I absolutely, positively _refuse_ to go down without our names on that cup!"

In response to this, Fred yawned loudly, smacking his lips together and turning his face further into George's shoulder.

Wood then proceeded to make the chalk lines wriggle across the blackboard with a flick of his wand. Harry was sure it represented some sort of tactical move but since the language of badly-drawn scribbles was beyond him, most of what Wood had been trying to illustrate was lost in the early morning air. At last, after what seemed like an eternity of trying to pay attention while legion upon legion of squiggly lines moved across the board in ever-changing patterns, Wood finally called a halt to their meeting and ushered them all out onto the pitch.

The moment they rose into the air Harry could feel the atmosphere change. No longer was anyone tired or cold or angry – a feeling of exhilaration surrounded all seven of them, and it was with gusto that they attacked their Quidditch session, falling into their roles as though they had never left them.

"Angelina, I want you to swerve when you get the ball – yeah, like that!" shouted Wood from his position at the three raised goalposts. The three Chasers were flying in the middle of the pitch, alternating between intercepting and catching the Quaffle, each pass quicker than the last. Further above them Fred and George practiced with one of the Bludgers, beating it backwards and forwards between the two of them, along with a barrage of good-natured insults and jokes.

Harry himself was near Wood, who once again had a large basket of muggle golf balls hanging from one hand.

"It's too foggy for the Snitch today," he said by way of explanation, bringing up the basket to rest between his knees. With his wand out he muttered a spell, which sent a golf ball flying out of the basket in a random direction. Without thinking Harry sped after it, catching it easily and lobbing it back towards the burly seventh year. Wood grinned at him and muttered another spell – this time two balls shot out of the basket, flying off in different directions. Harry shot after one of them, caught it with relative ease, and then cast his eyes to see where the other one had gone. It was falling in a long arc towards the ground, and he pressed himself as close to his broom as he could manage and sped off towards it. Whipping one hand out, he closed his fist around the ball, his knuckles brushing across the hard floor of the Quidditch pitch.

"Great catch, Harry!" called Wood encouragingly. As the practice drew on he sent more and more balls flying out simultaneously, and to his delight Harry caught every single one of them before they managed to hit the ground.

Finally, after an age of flying, Wood called a stop. Harry trudged back to the changing rooms with the rest of the team, feeling sore and cold now that he wasn't in the middle of practice, but nonetheless very pleased about how everyone had played. With a grateful sigh he stripped out of his damp Quidditch robes and slid into an empty shower cubicle. When he was down he towelled himself dry, dressed in his normal black school robes and went to go put his broom away.

"Good practice, eh," said Fred, coming up behind him with his broom slung across his shoulders.

"Reckon we've got the Quidditch cup in the bag, no worries!" added George. The pair of them stashed their brooms in the shed and fell into step beside Harry.

"Definitely," said Harry enthusiastically. "We've got the best team in the school."

Conversation quickly fell towards the Quidditch League, and then onto the brewing excitement of the Quidditch World Cup, which was set to be held in England for the first time in a long time the next year.

Fred was in the middle of loudly proclaiming the merits of his favourite country to win the Quidditch World Cup (England, naturally) when Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rise up. A sense of foreboding came up over him, and he slowed, falling behind Fred and George, who were now arguing. He felt as though he were being watched, and with a deep breath turned to look behind him.

There was nothing there, save for Crookshanks who had abandoned his post in the dormitory and was sitting at the base of a shrub, his yellow eyes peering at Harry.

Harry frowned, rubbed the back of his neck, and then turned back towards Fred and George, who were still in a disagreement over the best Quidditch country in the world. He jogged to catch up and walked with them back to the castle, half an ear on their conversation and the other trained behind him, uneasy.

* * *

"So how was practice?" asked Ron over breakfast, loading his plate with a little bit of everything.

"It was really good," said Harry, who was also in the process of piling his plate high with bacon, sausages, fried tomato and toast. "Wood's completely mental though – he was talking about trying to get another two practices lined up in the mornings."

"You spend practically every waking moment down at the pitch, though!" said Ron through a mouthful of toast. "Anymore and you might as well not even bother coming back to the dormitory."

"Well, you are getting through all your homework," said Hermione from opposite them, clearly believing that this was the most important thing. She had a book propped up against the table and was alternating between eating her cereal and making notes. Ron scoffed at her in a highly superior fashion.

"Hermione," he said, accidentally spitting out a bit of egg that narrowly missed her book, "there is more to life than studying. Am I right, Harry?"

Harry settled for a non-committal shrug, not wanting to get caught in a crossfire between the two of them. His friends had been walking on eggshells around each other ever since it became apparent that their pets did not get on at all. Scabbers spent most of his time hiding in Ron's sock drawer, while Crookshanks kept up a steady vigil outside the door, waiting for the moment when one of the boys forgot to close it behind them.

Hermione fixed Ron with a look that could have wilted lettuce and wiped away the stray bit of egg with a spare napkin.

"How was last night, Harry?" she asked, changing the conversation and leaning across the table.

He winced. Last night had been the third of five Remedial Potions lessons. Instead of scheduling them five nights in a row Snape had decided on arranging them every fortnight, apparently intent on drawing out the torture for as long as possible.

Ever since the night he had lost his temper, the lessons with Snape had been tense and silent. Harry was intent on keeping his head down and his mouth shut, and it appeared that Snape was of the same frame of mind. The only time they talked was when Snape was issuing his instructions for the evening, and even then he was so brisk as to be practically monosyllabic.

Harry still hadn't told his friends about the conversation he and Snape had had the first night back at Hogwarts, or any of his Snape-centric misadventures during the holidays. He still didn't feel at terms with it himself, and had decided that for the moment Ron and Hermione didn't need to know.

"It's pretty terrible," Harry said, playing with the tomato seeds on his plate. "We don't talk at all, and even though it's technically Remedial Potions he hasn't gotten me to do anything beyond decanting."

"Not talking to Snape is a good thing," said Ron staunchly. "I'd be more worried if he were offering you tea and biscuits – he might try and slip you something."

"Ron!" said Hermione in a hushed, but nonetheless shocked voice. The idea of a professor doing anything to a student was scandalous to her, even if it was Snape.

"What? It's true!" Ron said crossly. "Snape's gone out of his way to be a right bastard to Harry!"

"Look, can we stop talking about Snape?" Harry said, more sharply than he had intended. "Sorry," he added, sighing, "it's just that between Potions class and Remedial Potions I'm just not in the mood, you know?"

Thankfully both Ron and Hermione seemed to understand, because the conversation was steered clear of anything to do with the Potions Master and they spent the rest of breakfast chatting about nothing in particular. When breakfast was finally over the three of them rose and made their way towards Professor Lupin's class.

Over the weeks Defence Against the Dark Arts had readily become nearly everyone's favourite class. It was certainly nothing like any Defence class Harry had ever had before – Remus Lupin was neither timid nor egocentric, and reassuringly capable at his subject, unlike previous professors. For the third years, his classes were focussed primarily on dark creatures and how to combat them.

He was standing behind his desk when Harry, Ron and Hermione got there, and flashed them a small smile.

"All right, Harry?" he asked, his hands resting on top of a large square object that had been covered by a shabby-looking curtain. Harry grinned at him, coming over to stand next to the box, his friends falling in behind him.

"All right, sir," he said. "What is that?"

"Oh, this?" said Remus, idly fingering the fringe of the curtain. "It's a surprise. We'll wait until the rest of the class gets here."

Harry felt a flash of nervousness – the last time a professor had brought a covered cage to class he had set a swarm of violent pixies upon the unprepared students. Then Harry forced the feeling down – nothing so far had ever suggested to him that Remus was out of his depth or didn't know what he was doing.

Behind them the sounds of students piling into the room could be heard, and Harry, Ron and Hermione doubled back to their seats just Neville, the last one to arrive, slid into his spot.

"Good morning, everyone," said Remus. The class chanted a 'Good morning Professor Lupin' back at him, which he accepted with a little smile.

"Now, last week we finished up with kappas. Who remembers where kappas hail from?"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione's hand shot into the air. Harry thought that if it hadn't been connected to her shoulder by lots of muscle, it would have shot right through the ceiling and given the classroom above a nasty shock.

"Yes, Hermione," Remus nodded towards her.

"Kappas are found mainly throughout eastern Asia. They have many names, although the word 'kappa' originates from Japan," she said.

"Excellent memory," Remus smiled. He gestured towards the covered box with a hand. "Now, what we have in here is a distant cousin of the kappa. Both are water demons but the methods of vanquishing them are very different. Who remembers how to get rid of a kappa?"

Once again Hermione's hand shot into the air, only this time she was not without competition – a few others in their class also had their hands raised.

"Dean, what can you tell me?" said Remus.

"Um, for kappas … you have to trick them into bowing, don't you?" said Dean slowly, obviously mulling it over in his head. "Something about spilling the water …"

"Very good, Dean," Remus said approvingly. "As we learnt last week, kappas can come above water, but only when the hollow on the top of their heads is full of water, otherwise they can't breathe. The trick is to get the kappa to bow, therefore spilling the water and forcing them away."

Hermione scribbled this vital piece of information down, even though Harry knew for a fact she had a while two feet of parchment sitting in her dormitory solely about kappas.

The professor was once again playing with the fringe of the dirty curtain. He looked to his class, gave them a smile and then carefully pulled the curtain off. The box-like shape was revealed to be a large aquarium, filled with seaweed. Large pebbles lined the bottom.

There was a low murmur of approval as everyone leaned forward in their seats to get a good look at the green creature that moved rapidly around the tank, occasionally mashing its face up against the glass and pulling faces at them. It had little horns and the hands that pressed up against the glass had very long, thin fingers. Harry could faintly hear an angry chattering coming from it.

"This is a grindylow," said Remus, tapping the glass. For his efforts he earned a rude gesture in return from the creature. "If you wouldn't mind taking out a quill and parchment, and we'll take some notes before getting a bit of hands-on time."

The rest of the lesson passed quickly, with the professor issuing them with facts about the grindylow and then getting them to come up one at a time and stick their arm in the water. He demonstrated how to best break the grindylow's grip without hurting it, which he placed a great emphasis on.

"Quite often these creatures do what they do because they are frightened," he told the class at the end of the lesson. Nearly everyone was wet from the grindylow's enthusiastic splashing – Harry's entire front was soaked through. "The best possible scenario is to prevent them hurting you _without hurting them in return_.

"Now, for homework I want an essay on the differences between kappas and grindylows, at least two feet long. See you next week!"

Harry, Hermione and Ron left the class, talking animatedly about what they had just seen. They were still chatting excitedly about it when they arrived at the dungeons. It was quite chilly down there, and Harry felt the cold acutely through the wet front of his robes. For the first time in his life he was looking forward to sitting in front of his cauldron, if only to be able to huddle next to the fire and dry himself up.

"No talking!" snapped Snape as he strode in from his office. Everyone immediately settled down, not wanting to further incur the temperamental Potion Master's wrath. Everyone, of course, except Malfoy, who sat through Snape's instructions on the potion they were to brew silently before immediately erupting into haughty conversation as soon as he was finished.

Harry made an effort to keep his head down and not talk, intent on staying under Snape's radar. They had barely talked to each other for weeks and Harry was not about to let such a good run end. Unfortunately for him, Neville was sitting next to him.

"Oh no," moaned Neville under his breath. He always did terribly in potions, Snape always finding the time to breathe down the back of his neck. They were supposed to be finely chopping slackroot, but Neville's hands were so shaky that his roots were not chopped so much as massacred.

Harry tried not to look over, feeling that if he did he would do something stupid like offer his own nicely-chopped roots. Fortunately for both of them Hermione was sitting directly across.

"Flatten it with your blade," she muttered under her breath. Neville glanced up at her, his cheeks bright red from nerves, and nodded.

"Miss Granger," said a cold voice behind Neville, "what have I told you in the past about helping Longbottom?"

Hermione flushed, and looked up into the cold, scowling face of Professor Snape.

"I just pointed out to him how to cut his roots," she said quietly, looking down into her cauldron. Snape glared at the top of her head, and then looked down at the mess that was Neville's slackroot.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said, "for disobeying me." He took a step back as though to walk away from the table, and then stopped. "Make that five more," he said over his shoulder, "for Longbottom's complete idiocy when it comes to potions."

Neville's face flushed even more, and he was staring into his cauldron, his eyes liquid.

"While I would love to watch you add your pitifully inane attempt at chopped slackroot, I fear that you would most likely blow up the whole room." Turning and flicking his wand, Snape vanished all of Neville's ingredients, a sneer curling his lips up. "Start all over, Longbottom, and pray you will be finished by the end of this class, otherwise I will have to give you a nil for this assignment," he said silkily. "You really can't afford _another_ one at this rate."

Harry stared at the back of his Potions professor, surprised and extremely angry. He could just have vanished the slackroot … the git didn't need to vanish _everything_ …

"Something the matter, Potter?" Snape said sharply, turning to stare Harry down. Harry caught his eyes, refusing to look away.

"No sir," he said angrily.

Snape regarded him for a moment, and then said in a low, angry voice, "If you are quite finished being indignant, I trust you will _get back to work_."

Harry obliged him, his mind half on his potion and half on the next Remedial Potions lesson, thinking of all sorts of things he could say. And he had no doubt he would say them – in his eyes Snape had been unforgivable in his treatment towards Neville and it was high time that someone stood up to him.

Harry had no doubt in his mind that it would be him.

* * *

_I'm so sorry for the long pause between updates! I did actually write half of this chapter up a long, long time ago, but then I think something happened, like exams or something, and then I forgot about it. I actually just remembered because I went to go see HBP at the cinemas the other day, and then I was like OMG NUUU and raced back home to try and remember where I had saved this._

_Anyway I thought it was important not to focus too much on Snape this chapter – I think everyone (including Harry) needs a break now and then. FUN TIMES START NEXT REMEDIAL POTIONS LESSON :D_

_But yeah anyway read, review and HOLY SHIT BEHIND YOU!_

_Sweartoad XD_

Hello everyone! Sorry to spam your emails with an update alert when there is no actual update. Due to a case of plagarism that has just recently come to my attention, I am taking down **Sic Vita Est** for a little while at least.

Never fear! It will come back up, but only as soon as I get this whole situation sorted out. I know it's a bit of a disappointment and I know that I haven't updated in a long, long time, but I still do love this story and I will tell you that there have been many times when I've come back to this story to read all your lovely reviews. You guys honestly make my day every time you leave something for me to read, even if it's something so small as "Update nao!"

Naturally I'm writing this story because I love Harry Potter and I love thinking about all the things that could have been and I want to get that on paper. That does not mean that what I have written is not my own work – I may be borrowing the world but all the little bits and pieces that make it up are my own. I do take the protection of my own work very seriously and I appreciate it if you could also support the small break while I get everything sorted out.

As soon as it is, the story will be back up on the public domain for people to read and go, "Oh my GAWD why hasn't she updated yet the bitch?11!"

Lots of love,

Sweartoad


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